


have a cup of cheer

by deadlybride



Series: zmediaoutlet [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-26 16:14:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13239393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Sam is surprised by Dean's festive attitude.





	have a cup of cheer

**Author's Note:**

> a miniature ficlet written on Christmas Eve.

Sam’s fast asleep when the bed bounces, the mattress creaking warningly as a weight drops heavily onto it. His eyes shoot open and he slaps his forearms down to the bed, half-rising–but it’s only Dean, grinning down at him. “Merry Christmas, Sammy!”

Sam drags a hand over his face. “What time is it,” he says. God, it feels like they got in–

“Who cares, it’s like–one in the morning, okay, that is not the issue now.” 

–yeah, three hours ago. He pinches his nose, drags his thumb and finger over his eyes, and when he looks again Dean’s still smiling, wide, and now Sam sees that he’s showered off the dirt and sweat and he’s wrapped soft in lounge pants, a thin henley, holding two brimming rocks glasses. He holds one out to Sam, rests the crystal edge of it against Sam’s chest. “Come on, be cheery,” he says.

He’s in such an obvious tipsy good mood that Sam can’t help but smile back, though it’s definitely small. Seven hours of sleep over two days and they’re not getting any younger, and _Dean_ isn’t the one who got tossed into the wall three times by the stupid ghost, is he. Still. He takes the cup and shuffles further up the bed, gets his shoulders against the headboard, and while Dean scoots in closer, leans his hip against Sam’s outstretched legs, Sam takes a sip. Eggnog, creamy-thick with cinnamon and nutmeg and just a–wow, shocking amount of rum, goddamn. He coughs, feels the swallow sink down to his stomach like a lump of lava. He gets how Dean’s already a little bit sloshed. “Ouch,” he breathes out, and Dean laughs.

“Three parts nog, one part egg, dude,” he says, and then leans in and kisses Sam, leaning forward awkwardly so their glasses clink together. His mouth is sweet, spice on his tongue, and Sam closes his eyes, licks over his lip to get the taste of cream.

Dean’s eyes are heavy, when he finally pulls back, and Sam thumbs over the wet plump of his mouth. “Why all the holiday spirit, all of a sudden?” he says.

He gets a shrug, and he watches Dean take another long gulp of the frankly violent eggnog. His throat bobs attractively. Sam takes another sip, too, because–well, hell, it is good. Long time since they’ve done anything for the holiday, though ever since they’ve been in the bunker Dean has threatened to go cut a real tree, bring it down into the war room and cover it with popcorn and tinsel. They’ve got the space, and the time, now.

Dean’s still watching him. “How’s your back?” he says, after a minute.

Sam shrugs. “Been worse,” he says. He hopes they don’t have to run any marathons anytime soon, but he’ll live.

“Hmm.” Dean knocks back the rest of his eggnog in one more long gulp, and then crawls forward over Sam’s legs, reaches exaggeratedly to put his empty glass on the bedside table and then sits up, settles on Sam’s thighs. Sam puts his free hand on Dean’s hip, rests his drink on his chest, looks up into Dean’s flushed face. “I think you might need a second opinion on that,” Dean says, serious. “I think you might need a lot of bed rest. Flat on your back, probably.”

“Is that right,” Sam says, running his hand up the muscles around Dean’s spine. God, he loves that curve. “I bet you’ve got a plan for what I could do on my back, don’t you.”

“Dude, spoilers,” Dean says, and then leans forward and kisses him again, smiling, mouth generous, and then he pulls back just a little and puts his hands in Sam’s hair and looks into his eyes and whispers, “It’s Christmas, Sammy.” He wriggles his weight over Sam’s lap, grinds in close, and Sam can feel the chubbed-up thickness of him, warm and perfect. “Let’s make merry.”

Sam gulps down the rest of his eggnog, stomach all hot from alcohol and warm lower down, too, pooling deep. He puts the empty glass on the table next to Dean’s and then slides his hands down to Dean’s plush ass, squeezes it. He’s hardening up, his body awake and warm under Dean’s, at home. Who needs sleep, really. “Flat on my back, huh?” he says.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and gives him a smacking kiss on the forehead. “I’ve got it all taken care of. And I know exactly what I want for Christmas, by the way.”

Sam pauses, nose scrunching up. “You’re going to say _my dick_ , aren’t you.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You totally ruined the surprise,” he says, and then he peels his henley off over his head and leans in and kisses Sam, again, and again, and Sam laughs into his mouth and mumbles, _sorry_ , but he isn’t really. Not at all.


End file.
